I'm Just a Rock 'n' Roll Singer

“…I’ve got a book filled with daydreams, written in lonely rhymes…”

If you threw on the wrong side first as I had, things start off like a new gala game show from the decade represented here, fulla happy horns and restless piano blaring an over-large, in-the-clouds tempo where even dwells a brief interlude of crowd sing-along tactic that pretty much nullifies all the pseudo-evil this same German quintet have been dancing around with their previous pair of albums. Singer John Lawton’s apparently enraptured by this track, thrilled to be there singing his heart out as if his first daily dose of meth just kicked in and I’ll tell ya what, if this doozy of a title cut doesn’t get your engine started, then you’ve got a toe-tag tied to your foot.

Regardless, my jazz-emblazoned inauguration to Lucifer’s Friend’s third platter may have also startled a fan or three who couldn’t figure out which side was which, and as always it’s up to the individual to make or break it, but let’s not jump the gun here setting ‘what the fuh…?” opinions in stone ‘cos there’s still seven songs to go. Now, if you weren’t a spaz and began the day naturally with side one and LF’s familiar rockin’ vibe of “Groovin’ Stone”, then my ‘holy crow’ moment doesn’t make much sense, at least not until time drags you closer to side one’s dead wax and the flip to side two.

With I’m Just a Rock ‘n’ Roll Singer, progressive reverie is welcomed once again with a similar grip, things looser yet and possibly better-rounded/divided than the strides made on last year’s ...Where the Groupies Killed the Blues as more brass and even choirs via guest musicians shine up both of the disc’s sides, stretching the group’s general development which swishes shallower in known hard rock songcraft, but swells deeper musically overall and isn’t hard to notice over the year that passes. This growing appreciation has as much to do with their home country’s lauded krautrock scene spearheaded by Amon Duul ii, Faust and Guru Guru as it does European progressive rock where, while the lesser-known presence of Titus Groan and Warm Dust may have only made glancing marks, stuff in the vein of pre-’74 Beggars Opera and Birth Control is more LF’s target range, and because of this the stylistic forward motion here isn’t as overwhelming or overblown as it could’ve been.

For many fans of the band’s first two records, this album’s moderately-sloped incline where experimental interpretation and hard rock meet at its peak was the required pace for adjustment. In other words, to jump from more or less direct heavies like “Prince of Darkness” and “Hobo” and the thoughtful story arc of “Summerdream” to overlong artful trappings more akin to an act of Catapilla’s caliber may have earthquaked a crevasse in fan commitment many couldn’t or wouldn’t bear to cross. Then again, true prog-heads may have never rated Lucifer’s Friend (or acts like Sabbath, Bang, Stray and Sir Lord Baltimore) as anything more than blasé hard rock with a silly fiendish bend. Well, the inability to oblige everyone is a truth Lucifer knows well.

However, with no crevasse large enough to fret over, it’s middle road n’ worry-free “Groovin’ Stone”, the gospel-blues rock of “Closed Curtains”, reoccurring solo-suaveness of coolly-restive “Born on the Run”, and freestyle-fun porn backdrop in “Mary’s Breakdown” that become the walkways used to meet this weird-looking, past-prime fella posing on the front cover who to my mind may as well be the inspiration for the hook-handed Uncle Fester character on the debut’s disconcerting sleeve.

We already know impossible-to-ignore “Rock ‘n’ Roll Singer” drives like a wooden stake into the hearts of those waiting for the band’s musical or lyrical Prince of Darkness to appear and takes home the gold for the disc’s top oddball, an easy choice when compared to the others. It’s also the song most likely to zigzag through your memory banks come tomorrow. The next in the pack displaces the title tune’s jazz-infused glory with a temperament that’s completely its opposite; “Song for Louie”, an off-brand, low-sodium spirit wandering similar to lost quasi-ballad sections of “Summerdream”, and it’s here recollections of LF’s slanted lifestyle of an eerie keyboard kind are dusted off for a quick nod and diabolic grin. Finally a mélange of soprano sax, trumpet, keyboards and solid vocal harmonies (all overdubbed by Lawton) powering the soul of engagingly-eclectic and mature “Blind Freedom” keeps the curtains eschewing fundamental song structures drawn. Pats on the back are fine here, ‘cos it’s likely the wax’s most important six and a half minutes.

Like any effort representing at least a moderate departure from the expected, this eight-tracker is evidence to the dusty strategy of Lucifer’s Friend wishing to continue friendship with original fans who began the decade riding the sky alongside ‘em as well as new acquaintances who just sailed into their harbor with this one. It’s a plan that in other cases has alienated both parties, yet while things like disjointed song placement/relevance and Lawton’s unusually subdued pipes color this LF’s least stellar achievement for me thus far, it’d be a cold day before I color it dud-brown.

“…livin’ for the parties and the fun I might have had, smilin’ for the people and drinkin’ with the band…”